by Elena Monroe
I had spent weeks not being there for her and that guilt was sitting on every sabotaging bone I had like a paperweight.
The thing about surviving is—you get used to it as a way of life. Everything becomes background noise to just make it through each day. It’s hard to snap out of, and she was asking me to drop my way of surviving (booze included) to be her husband and a dad.
That’s all I ever wanted to be for her.
Not an Astor or horsemen or victim or survivor—just hers, forever.
Her blue eyes seemed to be layered in shades of blue and hints of gold, this warmth that seemed happy with scar tissue that was simply decorating her creamy skin.
I killed her demons, now she was going to kill the last of mine.
The guys walked in behind me, ruining the moment like they always did. I didn’t bother turning around. I was busy begging and worshipping Eve at the same time.
Khaos spoke first, “Oh thank god. That secret was killing me.”
I watched Eve smile to herself, softening against someone who used to bring out something much more pointed in her than just a smile. Whispering just to Eve, I looked up at her, “Careful, Princess, he might get the wrong idea and then we’ll be stuck with him forever. We just want this little one in here forever.”
Holding her palm in my hand, her smile twisted into a smirk. “Or Vic will just get jealous you have two best friends.”
Vic stood next to the couch still in the apron, now bloody, pulling the black latex gloves off. I could feel the stun in how quiet he was being; I could hear a pin drop through all the judgment coating the air. I knew exactly what they were thinking: how is the cult fuck up and glorified drunk going to raise a child.
Finally, Vic swallowed in a hard way that assaulted my senses. “How are we fixing this? There has to be a way to fix this. We have to find a solution for this if you’re doing… that...” his voice was always flat and responsible but this time was different. It was determined and concerned for the reason I was crying in a way no one has ever seen.
Not even when Braeden died.
I didn’t realize me being broken breaks everyone around me until this sobering moment.
Looking over my shoulder, I tossed out the only solution I had—destroy the problem like I always do. Only this one wasn’t a dead body, it’s a whole island that belongs to a cult. “Burn down the island.”
I didn’t know if I was still drunk or just as determined to slay my demons now that Eve was pregnant. That news alone can motivate you in ways you don’t expect.
I couldn’t fuck up my kid like I was fucked up.
Khaos smirked, jumping over the couch and landing on his ass. “I’m all for burning shit down but Bowen doesn’t fly…”
He wasn’t wrong.
I hated how much he knew about me without trying.
I haven’t flown since I tried to go to Denmark a few times when I turned eighteen, and I had no choice but to get plastered just to ease the nervousness of being in a tin can in the air.
Grimm looked like he was thinking when his words slithered out. “Guess you better get okay with it if that’s what it takes.”
Whatever hate he harbors will be tenfold if we go to the island and the truth comes out. A truth I buried, not because I wanted to but because I was forced to. Grimm hated me for resembling Braeden, but he was going to learn why really quickly that was simply because he was deflecting the guilt he had for something he didn’t remember.
GRIMM
I didn’t hate planes. Fuck, I didn’t even hate islands but there was something about this that made my leg bounce uncontrollably.
Abigail wasn’t here so I only had one vice left when I popped an extra Xanax.
It wasn’t going to kill me.
Maybe it would.
Anything to not be here on a plane with Conquest, War, and Famine. It just felt like a receipt for a disaster.
They were all engrossed in some kind of plan to christen Bowen while I avoided eye contact at all. I was here for moral support, not teamwork.
Khaos stepped over my legs, taking the seat next to me on the private plane. Out of all the empty seats, he chose the one next to me. “You okay? You’re sweating.”
“People sweat,” I bit off my words.
His hand landed on my thigh, giving it a squeeze through my boxer briefs. “You never sweat. Always cool as a cucumber. Separation anxiety?”
My eyes snapped to his in a mild panic like he was knocking on doors in my head that were padlocked and I didn’t even know what was inside.
I was still clutching the pill bottle in my tight fist when his eyes went wide and he tilted his head down to the bottle. “Maybe you should take some more, buddy. I think your monster is showing.”
No, my monster is strangling me from the inside out.
Twisting down on the childproof cap and spilling two more in my hand, I decided even if it did kill me at least it would be a peaceful death.
It was a short plane ride, an hour tops since we were already on the coast. The island where our highest-ranking members and inner circle line our pockets. I never thought about what goes on there until Bowen confessed to being molested and raped too many times to count.
I could feel my heart hollow and my throat thicken trying not to throw up at the thought of it.
An island the Clave owned and ran, right under our noses.
When we finally landed, I was hoping we could make this quick when I realized we had to take a boat to another island. Groaning internally, I was finally feeling the meds kick in, ironing out the wrinkles in my feelings.
Just my feelings; not the rapid speed of my heart or feeling colorless.
I felt drained already and nothing had happened.
Following the guys, taking my time, I was hoping to get lost so I could cut ties and end up back on the plane.
I’ll be the extraction team instead of executioner.
We arrived at a docking area with boats of all sizes as Vic jumped down into a speedboat with his arms open like it was clap worthy.
I was shaking on the inside and irritated more than normal here. Even the Xanax was having a hard time keeping up.
“What’s the plan? Light a match and we’re out?” I jumped down and took the corner seat in the back hoping I didn’t hurl.
Bowen shoved the key in the boat, seemingly fine for someone who doesn’t fly. “I have to get something I left behind.” His voice was cold, and I knew the creep was hiding shit.
That’s all he knew how to do—hide.
“Of course you do,” I muttered to myself as the boat cut through the water while Khaos blabbered on about recreating the Titanic.
My leg bounced again against my own will when the island came into sight and I swallowed hard. I had never been here, yet I had a visceral reaction to the place. Chalking it up to having a daughter now, I tried to push it all down deeper.
Pulling up to a dock off the island, Bowen let the boat stall out when guys with guns rushed the dock aiming with their fingers on the triggers. These guys were in all black, head to toe like a fucking swat team on roids. Pushing Khaos behind me, I pulled the gun out of the back of my joggers, aiming right back while Vic followed suite.
Just slower.
Bowen only got closer, climbing the dock with his hands digging in his jacket while putting himself between us and one squeeze of a trigger. “I’m Clave, idiots, or do you want me to prove it?”
I wanted to see him prove it.
Slapping whatever he dug out, he pushed it against one of the guy’s chests with aggression and the guns finally dropped with muttered apologies coming from their ski mask covered faces.
My heart was going too fast and my hands shaking with this place acting like poison.
I held onto my gun, not ready to part with safety like that when I dropped my arm by my side and pushed past Bowen further into the coverage of trees. “Can we fucking get this over with?”
“Feeling uneasy Rothschil
d?” his voice grated against my every nerve.
Turning around, I let our bodies be inches apart, something I avoided for years. “Keeping secrets, Astor? That’s what you do best isn’t, it? Being a vault instead of human?”
All my anger turned inward, folding in on myself, when the words echoed in my head in my monster’s voice.
Being a vault instead of a human.
I don’t know why I remembered the phrase, or those words strung together but I had heard them before in someone else’s voice instead of from the monster inside me. Looking over my shoulder, I swore I heard the forest behind me begging me to figure out why I remember hearing those words.
“Remembering things?” Pushing past him, I sat behind the wheel of one of the black golf carts waiting like even the island knew we were coming. Someone knew because this place was as vacant as the place Bowen was supposed to have a soul.
I needed to be in control somehow, even if it was clutching my gun and the wheel at the same time. Pressing on the horn, I tuned out all the whispering and the violent headache creeping up my spine.
Bowen was smart to choose the other ride when I spotted him and Vic speaking close together like they had a plan we didn’t know. I was already anxious and now they were poking my paranoia awake. “What are they talking about?”
Khaos shrugged, putting his dirty vans on the front of the cart before slumping back into the seat while blazing up the end of a joint. He was down for whatever and normally knew everything.
“You have a tell when you lie. Eye contact.” I said it in a flat voice, so he knew I knew he was lying with no threat. I would kill him last if it came down to it.
He didn’t respond when my foot pressed down on the gas and sped us forward even though I didn’t know where I was going or what the plan was. All I knew was I was here to help set this place on fire and hopefully make it out alive.
Bowen and Vic passed us like I expected when I debated going over the edge, at least an injury would keep me from having to participate. My head was on a swivel when I heard the thick forest whisper to me again, the same words I recognized, only louder.
Khaos could tell I was coming apart when he handed over the joint between his fingers. “Might wanna take a hit. This is going to be a long day.”
It wasn’t an observation; it was a promise.
Taking the joint from him after already a few more Xanax deep than normal, I felt the weight of my body wanting to relax sitting on my chest like a weight. I felt heavy but no amount of heaviness stopped the anxiety, paranoia, or the creepy fucking feeling this place must have given Bowen.
The dirt roads were deserted and when the buildings came into view it looked like a five star resort instead of what Bowen claimed this place really was.
It was like pulling teeth on the plane when I demanded more answers and the entire plane seemed to get it besides me. Finally, he spelled it out when he shouted from one side to me before we decided to divide the area evenly and not kill each other from that high up.
Bowen was molested by people in our lives we knew only as high-ranking members of the Clave. Confidantes. Holy men. People we should trust.
The lesson we all failed to learn was how much we were supposed to trust each other—only. No one else was a horseman, no one else had our names, no one else had this much power.
Pulling up to a main building with a helipad on top complete with the Clave’s helicopter, I came to stop trying to assess where this was going. I sat back waiting for directives or guidance when Bowen stood there paler than normal with his hands in his pockets.
Oh shit, he had feelings.
That realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I thought Bowen was a living dead boy which was a waste of life when his brother could have lived.
Standing up, I heard the same whispering that jerked my head to the side looking for someone to be standing just behind me when there was no one in sight except us. Tuning the guys out, I focused on the whispers, trying to hear them and make out the words.
I’ve missed you, Jason.
No one calls me Jason… not since I became a person far more dangerous for an average name. I couldn’t even remember the last time someone called me Jason until I felt my chest get so tight, I braced my hands on the top of the cart trying to catch my breath.
The words echoed in my head over and over until they sounded like screams when my brain finally remembered why I knew this place.
I had been here before.
I couldn’t tell you why or when or even how, but I had been here before. Enough to know this island can fuck up your whole life without laying a finger on you.
“I’ve been here before…” I muttered to myself while trying to heave in gulps of fresh air and my knuckles turned white when I felt Khaos standing next to me out of nowhere.
“You gotta relax. This place is fucked up and it’ll all make sense soon. We’re doing this to heal you too.”
Heal me too? What the fuck was wrong with me besides a possible tumor and a handful of medication daily?
I grabbed Khaos by the shirt and brought him so close I could feel him relax against me with his sex appeal turned on high. Dropping my hand from him, I let my head drop again. “I don’t need you or anyone else to fix me. Abigail fixed me.”
Khaos’s hand patted my back. “We all have trauma to fix. You’re just one of us now.”
One of them? No, I wasn’t one of them. I was much worse.
Abigail fixed me, shined a light on the monsters hiding under the bed and accepted me in ways I didn’t know someone ever would.
Bowen was dripping in life I’ve never seen him wear, feelings blemishing his normally smooth features when he announced, “We want to do this or not?”
Turning around, facing the overgrown trees, I sucked in a deep breath trying to hold myself together while my brain pieced together why I remembered this place. Finally steadying my breathing, I turned around and trailed behind the guys.
There were more armed men in all black with black ski masks on and AK-17’s at the ready to make us bloody dust instead of people. Everything about this place felt wrong, maybe it was just the downers working against me and the fucking monster in my head making me hear voices.
My hand still shook when the guys parted like the red sea and let us by like we were royalty. I didn’t want to be anything connected to this place let alone heirs to a throne built on robbing people of their innocence.
We were all broken but we were born into it—not forced.
The space was vast, full of places to sit, all stark white to draw you in deeper because you don’t see the darkness lurking around the corner. It was so quiet you could hear breathing from the guys if you listened hard enough.
Anything to drown out the voices.
Bowen waved us along like he knew exactly where he was going down the long hallway lined with closed doors and more silence. Gripping my gun tighter, I followed along like I always have, never making too many waves besides renaming myself.
The voices got louder, speaking above the listening I was doing when I got lost down a smaller hallway branching off the one they were still on. I was giving into the voices and letting them tag my hand to drag me to the truth.
Touching the door handle, I pushed down and let the door open enough for me to see the inside before I was brave enough to set foot past the threshold.
The room was bare but perfectly kept and when I stepped inside there was pressure in my chest that almost had me folding over. Frantically looking for a trash or bathroom, I hurled into a waste basket next to the bed. All the memories forced their way up my throat with me on one knee. I was in a place that I had clearly forced myself to forget when all that was left in my foresight was Braeden, my best friend who died.
Standing up with all my memories somehow flooding back to me, I realized I was in his room when I found my eyes stuck to a photo frame of us younger sitting there untouched. He was the only person I denied loving enough to drive t
hem to suicide.
That kind of guilt never truly went away, it only bred my monsters.
BOWEN
I knew exactly where Grimm’s dad would be—exactly where he always is… in the presidential suite looking out onto the same ocean my brother hurled himself into just to escape this place.
Looking behind me, I saw Grimm leaning against the wall, back of his hand rubbing the corners of his mouth, and I knew he just emptied his stomach. Good because the worst was yet to come as I pushed open the door and walked in on exactly what I knew I would.
Mr. Rothschild was sitting comfortably on the edge of the bed, weight in his hands behind him with his favorite boy on the island shaking between his legs.
I knew him as Iron and that came after a lot of digging into this place—why it's here, why we were sent here, and the ways I could burn it all down.
Apparently, he was nicknamed Iron because of, you guessed it, his iron jaw. Apparently, he never tires or complains. I’m sure that’s how Grimm’s perverted old man prefers it.
Iron was shaking like a leaf, hands on the tops of his own thighs with his mouth buried in his lap.
“Rothschild.” I didn’t even need to rattle that off, he already knew we interrupted and shuffled his pants up. In the process, he pushed Iron out of the way, already was fuming with anger.
“This is a private suite.” His words sounded vicious but it’s hard to take them seriously.
I looked behind me for Grimm when he pushed Khaos out of the way, his eyes not leaving his father’s. He wasn’t in denial because he saw it with his own two eyes, but he was going through something.
Anger?
Regret?
Guilt this island seems to hold for a lot of people?
I didn’t expect a gun to come barreling into the side of my cheek with a hand around my throat to keep me still. I expected this kind of anger to get directed at his pedophile dad.